


I Will Wait For You

by aces_mild



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: AU - Underswap, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, eating your feelings, he's been pining for a while though so like he has ulterior motives, hes not a dick about it though, just a dummy, sans helps reader deal with a bad break up, will they wont they
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:55:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27374560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aces_mild/pseuds/aces_mild
Summary: You've just been broken up with, and you're not handling it well. Sans, your close friend, stops by with comfort food to help you through it.It's all fluff, folks.
Relationships: Sans (Undertale)/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 65





	I Will Wait For You

It’s well past midnight when Sans shows up at your door. You’d forgotten to turn the porch lights off, so at least he isn’t waiting in the dark while you shuffle slowly over from the couch.

You open your front door and glare at him. “What are you doing here?” You croak out, your voice hoarse from the last few hours spent yelling and crying.

“I’M HERE FOR EMOTIONAL SUPPORT!” He explains cheerily. He holds up a bag from the 24-hour corner store. “AND I BROUGHT SNACKS, SO YOU CAN EAT YOUR FEELINGS!”

You take the bag from him, looking inside. You raise an eyebrow. “Chips? Ice cream? I thought you were ‘morally opposed’ to junk food.”

“I AM!” He pauses, his bright smile faltering. “BUT…I THINK IT WOULD BE FINE FOR YOU TO INDULGE, JUST THIS ONCE.”

“You didn’t have to do this.” Part of you would’ve preferred if he hadn’t.

“OF COURSE I DID. YOU’RE…HAVING A BAD NIGHT. IT’S THE LEAST I COULD DO!”

“No, the least you could do is nothing.”

“WELL! WE BOTH KNOW THAT ISN’T AN OPTION!”

You smile. Sans is…a lot, but he’s the best friend you have, by far.

“CAN I COME IN?”

You look over your shoulder at your tiny apartment. It’s in awful shape - used tissues and cut-up photos litter the floor, there’s a hole in the wall where your now ex-partner punched it, and the evidence of you already having eaten most of your feelings is scattered around the meager living space.

“It’s a mess.”

“I DON’T CARE.”

You yourself are barely presentable. You’re wearing your oldest pair of sweatpants, so well-worn that the college logo on the side has completely worn away, and a loose t-shirt that’s got more than its fair share of stains. You never took off your makeup after work - you hadn’t had time before shit hit the fan - so your cheeks are covered in black smudges. You’re pretty sure there’s melted chocolate stuck in your hair somewhere.

“ _I’m_ a mess.”

“YOU’VE BEEN MESSIER,” Sans points out. “REMEMBER THE NEW YEAR’S PARTY?”

You wish you didn’t.

“AT LEAST YOU’RE NOT THROWING UP!”

“Yet.” There’s an untapped bottle of vodka sitting on the coffee table that you have plans for. You turn around and head back inside, leaving the door open for Sans.

You drop the bag of snacks on the counter that separates the sitting room from the kitchen, grabbing one pint of ice cream - chocolate chip cookie dough - and a spoon before going back over to the couch. You fold your legs beneath you and pop the lid. Sans winces when you accidentally place it on the coffee table ice-cream-side-down, but says nothing. He takes a blanket from the back of the sofa, shakes it out, and wraps it around your shoulders.

For a while, the two of you sit in silence, mindlessly watching the nature documentary you’d put on. You’re halfway through your pint of ice cream before Sans speaks again.

“DO YOU WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT?”

“No,” you say around the freezing-cold spoon in your mouth.

You reach for the remote and fast-forward through a scene of lions devouring an antelope. You’re not squeamish, just not in the mood to witness the circle of life in all its high-definition glory. You stop when you see hippos.

“I…probably _should_ talk about it, though.”

You stab the spoon into your ice cream sword-in-the-stone style and set it down on the coffee table. You open up the blanket, inviting Sans to join you, which he does. He puts a comforting arm around you, his hand resting gently on your upper back as you recount how the evening played out.

“They already had their things packed when I got home from work. They’d…been planning this for a bit, I think. Not that they set a date, or anything, just…it was something they’d wanted to do.”

You wipe your nose on your sleeve, prompting Sans to reach behind him and grab the box of tissues. You set it in your lap and keep talking.

“They met some girl…Lauren? Lindsey? I don’t remember what they told me her name was…” You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter. They met her during our beach trip.”

“LET ME GUESS…THAT NIGHT YOU GOT FOOD POISONING, AND THEY WENT OUT TO A BAR WITHOUT YOU?”

You nod. Sans, like all your other friends, had been pretty peeved when you’d told him that your partner hadn’t stayed with you to make sure you were okay. That they’d rather be out drinking, partying, and meeting other women, apparently.

“The two of them hit if off, and have been…’talking’,” you remove your hands from the blanket to add air-quotes for emphasis, “ever since. They like her. A lot. More than they like me. So they left.”

“THEY JUST LEFT? WHERE DID THEY GO? BACK TO THEIR PARENTS’ HOUSE?” Sans asks venomously. He’d made no secret of looking down on your partner for having never lived on their own. It was pretty clear, after moving directly into your apartment from their parent’s basement, that they’d expected you to cater to them the way their parents had - doing all the chores, cooking all the food, etc.

“I think they just moved in with the new girl? I don’t know. I didn’t ask.” You know Sans would’ve asked a million questions, wanting a complete picture. “I didn’t want any details. I just wanted them to leave.”

“WHAT ABOUT THAT?” he gestures to the hole in the kitchen wall.

“I think they just did that to scare me. Like with the lamp, remember?” Sans nods solemnly. You can kinda tell he wants to say that he told you so - which, to be fair, he did - but he’s holding himself back. He’d tried to convince you to leave, that there were just too many red flags, but you hadn’t been willing to listen.

“It’s not like there’s much for _them_ to be mad about. I’m the one who should be punching walls.”

Sans covers one of your hands with his, looking at you with a concerned expression. “PLEASE DON’T. I’D HATE FOR YOU TO BREAK YOUR HAND, ON TOP OF EVERYTHING ELSE.”

You laugh, “I didn’t say I was _going_ to. Just that I _could._ ”

“YOU’RE THAT MAD?”

“…No. I’m not mad at all, to be honest. Not yet. I’m just sad.” You can feel the tears well up again. “Really, really sad.”

Sans puts his arm fully around your shoulders and pulls you closer, and you bury your face in his chest. He lets you sob for a while, quietly shushing you, and eventually bringing his other arm up to wrap you in a tight hug.

You’re willing to accept his comfort until he nuzzles the top of your head, and you’re suddenly reminded that his feelings for you aren’t _entirely_ platonic. You go quiet, momentarily distracted from your despair by the looming threat of what Sans might say or do next, now that you’re…available. You’re not ready to deal with that.

He pulls back from you, ever so slightly, now that you’re calm. “THERE’S, UH…SOMETHING I WANTED TO ASK…”

You’re not ready, but he’s right here, and you know he’s not going to wait. You have to face this.

You wiggle out of his arms, putting enough space between your bodies so you can see his face. It’s flushed blue, practically glowing in the dim light of the living room.

He’s so nice, and such a good friend, and so _important_ to you.

You hate that you’re going to have to shoot him down.

He takes a breath, preparing his poorly timed question, but you cut him off. There’s a way to make this easier on you, and you’re going to take advantage of it.

“Vodka first,” you say, pointing to the bottle behind him.

He obliges, but hesitates when handing it over. “IF I FEEL YOU’RE GOING OVERBOARD, I’M TAKING IT BACK.”

“Fine.” You grab it from him, unscrew the cap, and take a swig, grimacing. You hate drinking it straight, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

“…CAN I TALK NOW?”

You hold up your pointer finger and take a second swig, followed quickly by a third. You shudder, then screw the cap back on and set the bottle down on the coffee table beside your now very melted ice cream.

“Go for it.”

He takes both of your hands in his and looks deep into your bloodshot eyes. “I REALLY LIKE YOU.” He says the words with such severity and weight, as if it’s some huge, world-shattering reveal, but…

“I know.”

He blinks, and you can’t help but laugh at his surprise.

“What, did you think you were being subtle about it?” You continue to laugh as the dusting of blue on his cheekbones rapidly takes over his entire face. “Dude, you’re a lot of things, but subtle is _not_ one of them.”

Sans is your friend. He’s sweet, and thoughtful, and polite, and would never even _dream_ of coming between you and your partner. That being said…he never passed up an opportunity to compliment you. For your clothes, your hair, your work ethic, your home decor - you name it. He’s always inviting you to go places with him [and occasionally his brother], or just asking if you want to go over to his house and hang out. Hell, he’d sent you _flowers_ on your birthday this year.

Despite his embarrassment, Sans laughs, too. “I GUESS NOT, HUH? WHOOPS…” he clears his nonexistent throat. “SO…SINCE YOU ALREADY KNOW HOW I, UH…FEEL…MAYBE WE COULD…GO ON A DATE SOMETIME? LIKE, A REAL ONE…?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, sigh, and lean back on the arm of the couch. “Sans…now’s a terrible time to be asking me out. You get that, right?”

“…YEAH, I KNOW…BUT I HAD TO SAY SOMETHING. JUST TO…GET IT OUT IN THE OPEN.” He lets go of your hands, scooting back to give you some space. “I’VE HAD A LOT OF TIME TO THINK ABOUT THIS, AND I NEEDED YOU TO KNOW.” His shoulders slump a bit, “I PROBABLY SHOULD’VE JUST LEFT IT AT A CONFESSION, HUH?”

“Yeah, you should’ve.” You rub your still-closed eyes with the hells of your palms. “I broke up with them _five hours ago._ ”

He sits there, silent, too ashamed to say anything more.

So you speak instead. “I’m not saying no,” you explain. “I’m just saying _not yet._ ” You open your eyes, but keep your gaze fixed on the couch beneath you. You can’t bring yourself to face the stars in his eyes. “I can’t just go from one relationship immediately into another. I’m not ready. I need time to…to let this one go. To get over them.”

Sans nods.

“So…check in with me a couple weeks from now, when things have blown over, and I’m not eating my feelings anymore.”

“SURE! I’VE WAITED A YEAR AND A HALF, A COUPLE MORE WEEKS IS NOTHING.” He says with a shrug.

“Says the guy who can’t even wait in line for the bathroom…” you tease, reaching for another sip of vodka.

“WHY WOULD I WAIT IN LINE TO USE A DISGUSTING PUBLIC RESTROOM, WHEN I CAN JUST SHORTCUT HOME AND USE MY NICE CLEAN ONE?” He argues. When you’re done, he takes the bottle from you and takes a sip himself, the liquid somehow disappearing into the void that is his skull. You still don’t know how that works.

The two of you spend the rest of the night passing it back and forth, eating junk food and getting increasingly emotional about the animals in the nature documentary. There’s a whole ten-minute segment on cheetahs in zoos, and when you tell Sans that they sometimes get their own emotional support dogs, he bursts into tears.

Eventually, Sans switches off the tv. You’re half-asleep as he picks you up princess-style and carries you to your room, where he tucks you in before heading back downstairs. You’re thankful that he’s respecting your boundaries, but a part of you wishes he’d stayed. There will be plenty of time for that, you suppose.

**Author's Note:**

> You wake up the next morning and he's already set out painkillers for your whopper of a headache and he's making you breakfast. He had work, but there's no getting rid of him now. Not that you want to get rid of him, anyway.  
> Thanks for reading! I needed to take a break from my other projects to just write something fluffy and fun. I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
